growing pains :: bailey May 24, 2020 16:08:42 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on May 24, 2020 16:08:42 GMT -5
Broken bottles and burnt butts of cigarettes stain the streets. There's some starving shadow sobbing in a nearby alley, the anthem of District Twelve. Even in the buildings dimly lit by low candle light, the song of suffering is strong. And at it's center, Bailey walks with his hood drawn tight trying to ignore the cold rain of winter. The pellets pierce his sodden skin, yet still he walks on with the stolen face of a frozen statue. He doesn't see the shriveling shadows. He doesn't hear the crying children. He doesn't notice the splintered shards splitting beneath his shoes. He feels the rain, cold and rampant, and nothing else. The boy thief is little more than another ghost waning through the coal crusted streets of the poorest District in Panem.
"Hey you, you're one of 'em Monaghan kids ain't ya?"
A river of rushing ice races down Bailey's spine as his body brakes with a sudden jolt.
"Sorry 'bout that sister of your's, must be a terrible way to die."
Bailey's breath escapes in a slow sigh that fills the air with clear condensation. She passes in pictures of the past. Her laughter lifting through the halls of home. Her shape shifting around the kitchen on holidays probably trying to slap Bailey upside the head for playing another prank. Her simply being there, being alive. Bailey knows the man is behind him, but his body is rigid. He can't feel anything other than the tension constricting every inch of his muscles. His teeth grind deeper into each other as his body begins to shake, but it isn't the cold he feels. It's a flash of agony that erupts from the young boy who finally breaks.
Bailey's scream spits through the sheen of sorrow. Blood bursts across the watery street sending scarlet swirling down the flooded sewer system. The man's body bangs into a puddle as his hands cradle his face where his broken nose now lays. Shock swims in the eye of the simple well wisher, but Bailey's fist is already flying again, and again, and again. There are tears and blood, blood and tears. Sobs shake Bailey's body as his screams become the only sound of the street in the rain.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
A clap of thunder cries from the clouds and Bailey staggers back slipping into the water himself. A puddle splashes with the impact of the young boy who pulls his knees into his chest and cries. There is thunder, cries, and moans; the remnants of a broken brother. Bailey's lower lip trembles and for any listening closely enough they can hear him quietly repeating the same word over and over again.